


Malfoy and the Magpies

by jeongsoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Ron, Boss Bitch Hermione, Bottom!Harry, Draco Owns a Quidditch Team, Explicit Sexual Content, Harry Getting Railed in Draco’s Office, Harry Has a Size Kink, Harry Is Confused At the Beginning, Harry Rides Draco’s Broomstick, Harry’s Still With Ginny At the Beginning, Lots of Redeeming Draco, M/M, Porn With Plot, Quidditch Player Harry, The Characters are 21, hung!draco, i’m going to hell for this, lots of feelings, top!draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27174649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeongsoo/pseuds/jeongsoo
Summary: When the seeker of the best quidditch team in the country, the Montrose Magpies, falls ill, Harry is honored to take his place. If only the man who owned the team wasn’t Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Short chapter here, but I think it’s a good start! I literally have the next fourteen chapters planned out, so I hope y’all stick around.

“Good news,” Hermione begins, sitting down at the table and joining Ron and Harry for dinner. “The seeker of the Montrose Magpies just came down with Dragon Pox. Which means they have an opening. And they want you.” 

Ron’s jaw drops. “The Montrose Magpies? The greatest Quidditch team in the UK?” He elbows Harry. “Let’s go, mate.” 

“Hermione, you’re a miracle worker,” Harry comments and she grins. Surprisingly, Ron was the only out of the three that found a decent job after finishing up their 8th year at Hogwarts. Hermione hated the ministry with a passion, and Harry decided that he didn’t really want to be an Auror, and that his desire to be one in the past the result of him being squeezed into the mold of a “hero.” Although Hermione admittedly wasn’t much of an athlete, Harry suggested she become a manager for aspiring professional quidditch players. Initially, of course, she thought it was a horrible idea, but Hermione’s wisdom ensured that she found success right away. 

The ministry had paid all three of them a larger sum of money they’d ever need after the war as some sort of hero award, but they still seeked out employment options anyway, as days sitting at home had become monotonous. They decided to buy a flat big enough for the three of them situated in between Muggle London and the wizarding world, which worked out for them, since they traveled almost exclusively by Floo Powder. 

Harry saw Ginny pretty often, but not as much as she liked. As much as he loved her, he didn’t find himself looking forward to their meetings. It wasn’t because he didn’t enjoy her company, it was more that he didn’t enjoy the snogging. Ginny was pretty, intelligent, and fun to be around, but something that Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on, felt off. He assumed he was overthinking it. After all, it had only been a little more than three years after the war, and he was still recovering. Give it some time, and all would be back to normal again, surely. 

Harry tells Ginny the good news anyway, and invites her to the Three Broomsticks to celebrate, which he figures is the best way to spend time with her without having to snog her. He usually orders a butterbeer, but knowing that he won’t be allowed to drink much once he starts his contract with the Montrose Magpies, he opts for a firewhisky instead. Or perhaps more than one. Ginny gets sloshed too, and by the end of the night, their speech is slurred and they can hardly walk straight. 

Even after four years together, Harry and Ginny had never had sex. They’ve discussed it, sure, but Harry’s always told her he was too nervous. Ginny is understanding. She always is. She tells him that whenever he’s ready, she is. Tonight was different, however. Harry’s never been more drunk in his life, and based on the way she was acting, he assumed Ginny hadn't either. He’s resisted the Imperius curse—surely he could resist the effects of alcohol. 

But Ginny’s his girlfriend of four years. Having sex wouldn’t be a big deal. He knows Ron and Hermione do it all the time. Not because Hermione’s silencing charms fail, because nothing of Hermione’s ever fails, but because Ron tells him about it. He and Ron had become pretty accustomed to telling each other everything by now. So Harry lets Ginny seduce him. He didn’t really have any expectations, but by the end of it, he was sorely disappointed.

He hardly manages an orgasm, which makes him feel incredibly guilty. He knows Ginny deserves so much better, and he wonders if there’s something wrong with him. He wants to talk to Ron, but this is sister. Certainly it would be too awkward. Harry stays the night with Ginny. He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know how. How do you tell your girlfriend you love her, but she just doesn’t satisfy you, and you’re sorry if she feels bad about herself for it? That’s right, you can’t. 

Harry gives Ginny a goodbye kiss before he leaves, and luckily, she doesn’t mention last night. He loves her—there’s no doubt about that—but thinking about sex was never anything Harry had time for. Not in his teenage years certainly, and even though things are better now, the trauma hasn’t gone away. He still has nightmares. He misses Sirius and Remus every day. Perhaps he just wasn’t ready for this. When he returns home, the sheets in Ron and Hermione’s room are in disarray, leaving Harry with no doubt of what they were up to when he was gone.

He didn’t really understand why they had sex so often. He never questioned it in the past, but after his night with Ginny, he was wondering how they could possibly enjoy it that much. “Sex is overrated,” Harry blurts out at breakfast. 

Ron and Hermione look at each other and Ron raises his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?” Hermione asks calmly. 

Harry regrets being so impulsive. “Nothing.” He returns to his food like nothing happened.

Ron snorts. “Are you calling my sister bad in bed? I’m never letting her live that one down for sure. Watch me bring that up the next time she tells me it’s such a surprise that I pulled Hermione.” 

“Please don’t, Ron.” 

Ron laughs. “I’m just messing with you, mate. Anyways Hermione, what do you think? Is bad sex a dealbreaker?” 

“Of course it isn’t,” she answers. “I don’t think anyone’s naturally bad in bed. Everyone can learn. And if there are people who were just born to suck in the bedroom, it’s not Ginny, that’s for sure.” 

“But how do I tell her that?” Harry asks. “I don’t want her to feel bad.” 

“Just tell her what you like and what you don’t,” Hermione replies. “Or maybe just take a little more control. It takes time, Harry. And especially considering the fact you’re still healing, maybe enjoying things like this can be a little difficult. Maybe just give it some time. But if nothing works, maybe it’s just a compatibility issue.” 

Harry is puzzled. “What do you mean by compatibility issue? We’ve been through plenty together.” 

“Sure you have,” Hermione says. “We’ve been through even more together, yet we’re still not romantically compatible. It’s not like me and Ron, you know, we liked each other for years before finally getting together. You and Ginny...Well, it kind of just, happened, didn’t it?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry answers lamely. “So you think we’re not meant for each other?” 

“Well, no, I’m not saying that at all. But I mean, if nothing works, even after a while, it’s something that you might have to consider.” 

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Ron adds. “It’s unlikely that you guys won’t figure it out. And worst case scenario, she’ll have no trouble finding a new boyfriend. And you’ll have no trouble finding a new girlfriend.” 

Harry shrugs. “I guess you’re right. I just really don’t want our relationship to suffer, you know? I love her, I really do.” 

“We know, Harry,” Hermione reassures him. “Ginny is always understanding. And as Ron said, you two will have no problem finding someone else. You’ll always be good friends. But it probably won’t even come to the point where you’ll have to break up.” 

Harry smiles weakly and says, “thanks guys, i don’t know what I’d do without you,” even though he’s not entirely comforted. He knows his friends did their best, and he was the one who was overthinking it anyway. He still doesn’t really know what Hermione means by a compatibility issue, and while he doesn’t disagree that Ginny would have no trouble finding a new boyfriend, he doubts he’ll have the same luck. Come to think of it, it’s been years since he’s found a girl attractive. Unless he was...No. That was out of the question. This was going to be harder than he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s meeting Draco next chapter y’all

Harry wakes up early the next morning, something he hasn’t done in a while. Professional sports, even quidditch, was no walk in the park. The coach had requested everyone be present by 7 AM sharp, so Harry woke up at 6, had a quick breakfast, before standing in front of the mirror and trying to get his hair in order to no avail. He makes his way to the locker rooms at 6:50, and when he walks in, it sounds more like a pub than a changing space for athletes. When he walks in, the chatter stops abruptly, and everyone turns around and greets him. 

He smiles at the assortment of guys in the locker room. A scrawny Irish chaser. A tall, black-haired beater with buck teeth and a mean face. And good Merlin. An muscular blonde haired man dressed in his quidditch uniform stands in front of him. He was exceptionally handsome. “I’m Ronan,” he says, holding his hand out for Harry to shake it. “Ronan Mulligan. Beater.” 

“R-right,” Harry replies, shaking his hand quickly. He lets go as fast as he can, not because he doesn’t appreciate the physical contact, but because he’s sweating. “I’m Harry Potter,” he adds impulsively, and then internally scolds himself. 

Ronan laughs. “We know. Looking forward to having you on our team. Your locker’s right there.” 

“Erm, thanks,” Harry says. Since when was the Boy Who Lived so timid and awkward? He changes as quickly as possible, stuffs his clothes in the locker, and tries to avoid conversation. Harry silently thanks God for his seeker position, because he could independently pursue the Snitch without having to stare at Ronan Mulligan batting away the Bludger. Harry remembers his conversation with Hermione and what she said about that “compatibility issue.” Before the rest of his teammates file out of the locker room and meet on the field, Harry reminds himself that it isn’t gay to find a guy handsome.

He wants to make a good impression on his teammates, which he luckily does, by trying to focus on anything but his new incredibly attractive teammate. By the end of practice, he’s sore, sweaty, and thoroughly exhausted. The majority of his teammates used the showers in the locker room, including Ronan, but he thought maybe he’d pass this time. He wasn’t sure he could resist the temptation to glance over at Ronan a couple of times. “Hey, Potter!” Ronan jokes affectionately. “You stink.” He’s reminded of those stupid “Potter Stinks” badges from fourth year that he assumed were made by none other than Draco Malfoy, and his stomach flips. 

Ronan tosses him a towel and says with a grin, “there’s an empty shower over there. You smell.” 

Harry’s nerves prevent him from returning Ronan’s exuberance, and he replies with an awkward grin. Harry strips apprehensively, even though he knows no one is looking. Or maybe they were. If Ronan were undressing, perhaps he would glance over at him once or twice. That was normal, right? Harry clears the thought from his mind. He didn’t have time for this in his teenage years, and just because his life was no longer on the line, didn't mean he had time now. He wonders if he’ll tell Ron that he wanted to see another guy naked, and maybe that’s the reason he didn’t want to shag his sister. 

While he lathers shampoo through his hair, he gives into temptation, and sees Ronan stepping out of the shower, his blonde hair damp and a towel wrapped around his lower body. His heart thumps in his chest, and he feels blood rushing to his cock. Harry winces in humiliation, even though he’s pretty sure nobody noticed. He should’ve known this before joining an all-male sports team. But then again, he’d never had time to think about things like his sexuality. How would he ever face Ronan again, knowing that he had inadvertently made him hard? Harry vows to never use the showers in the locker room ever again, even if his odor could be smelt from a mile away. 

He’s almost tempted to go back to Hermione and tell her he wants to quit, but he doesn’t, because that would be stupid. Why would he give up the opportunity of a lifetime because he might be a little bit gay? This wouldn’t last long, and soon enough, things would surely go back to normal. Harry finishes his shower last, and the other guys are outside, chatting. A wiry brunette boy taps Harry on his shoulder. “I’m Marcus. Team captain, chaser. We all go out for drinks every Friday, but since it’s your first day, we figured we’d reschedule for tonight. Care to join us?” 

Harry assumes Ronan would be there, but agrees anyway, deciding that avoiding a gathering with his new teammates was a sign of cowardice, a trait Harry prides himself on not possessing. 

“Great,” Marcus replies. “Six o’clock tonight, Three Broomsticks.” 

“Right,” Harry answers awkwardly, and apparates home. Ron is asleep on the couch, still in his Auror uniform, and Harry decides it’s not a bad idea to take a nap himself. He wakes up at 5:30, and decides to once again try to tidy up his hair. It fails for the most part, but at least it looks better than it did before he left for practice this morning. 

When Harry enters the Three Broomsticks, his teammates are already seated and waving enthusiastically, including Ronan. Well, being the Chosen One did have its perks. Harry had spent the entirety of his childhood neglected by Dursleys and trying not to die, so he wasn’t really aware of what “normal” guys talked about. Probably quidditch and girls. Harry would certainly have trouble making contributions to the latter. 

“I’m telling you,” says a chaser, who’s name he didn’t quite remember. “She’s slept with half of the Chudley Cannons.” 

Ronan snorts. “The Chudley Cannons? Looks like someone doesn’t have much taste.” 

“Wait until Ron hears about this,” Harry jokes to himself. 

A man with mousy brown hair and one front tooth chuckles . “Weasley, right? Tell him the Cannons suck.” 

“Hey,” the team captain, Marcus, scolds. “Why don’t we start by introducing ourselves, instead of bashing his best friend?” 

“Albert,” says the man missing a tooth. “Beater.” 

“Ronan, but you already know me,” Ronan says with a wink. Harry feels his knees buckle, and he’s grateful that he’s sitting down. He blushes furiously, but manages an awkward smile. 

“Bryce,” says the blonde-haired boy seated next to Ronan. “Chaser.” 

“Oscar,” says the next man. “Keeper.” 

“And I’m Flynn,” adds a red-haired boy. “Chaser.” 

“Now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries,” begins who Harry remembers as Bryce, “Back to what I was saying, she gets around. I swear she’s going to try to get with you guys next.” 

“Who are we talking about?” Harry asks, puzzled. Even though he wasn’t particularly interested, he knew that the boys would want him to make a contribution to the conversation, and asking questions was certainly easier than talking about girls. 

“Amelia McMillan,” Bryce answers. “She’s a waitress here. I hooked up with her at least year’s championships, and now she’s writing to me again for some reason.” 

“How about you, Potter?” Flynn chips in. “How’s your love life going?” 

Great. The question he was dreading. “Um, good?” he answers awkwardly. 

“Not much of a social butterfly, are you?” Ronan jokes. “Come on, half the wizarding world wants to bang you.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Why only half?” 

“You know, the girls.” 

Harry turns red in the face. “R-right. O-only the girls.” He internally reprimands himself. 

“You want the boys too, Potter?” Ronan teases. “Greedy, aren’t you?” He has a point though. Despite the fact the spotlight sort of followed him everywhere he went, he didn’t care much for it. He didn’t need or want the attention of anyone who he didn’t care for. This was going to be difficult to explain to Ginny. 

Harry grins uncomfortably. “Why so tense?” Marcus asks. Harry’s once again reminded of Malfoy, and takes a sip of his butterbeer, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. 

“Merlin, if even Marcus is telling you to lighten up, something’s wrong,” Oscar points out. “Might as well get comfortable with us.” 

“I just don’t like talking about my love life,” Harry admits. “Frankly, it’s not going well at all.” 

“Well, spill,” Bryce replies. 

“Um, there’s this person, I think they’re really cute,” Harry begins. Gender-neutral terms would work. He didn’t have to lie, and nobody couldn’t accuse him of being gay. “I doubt they’d even look in my direction, to be honest.” 

Ronan rolls his eyes. “You? Who would reject Harry Potter?” 

“You,” he wants to say, but he knows better. 

He shrugs. “I’ll shoot my shot, I guess.” 

“Any hits about who this lucky lady is?” Flynn adds. 

He winces at the word “lady.” “Erm, blonde?” 

“Okay guys, he’s clearly uncomfortable,” Marcus comments. “No need to push him to spill details. He probably just doesn’t want his love life published in the paper, that’s all.” 

Harry wants to give Marcus a hug for sparing him from the embarrassment, and also coming up with a decent excuse for refusing to give details about his relationships with girls. Hopefully, he could survive the next hour. Despite the fact it stated on his contract that the members of Montrose Magpies weren’t allowed to drink heavily because they needed to be in peak physical condition at all times, it didn’t stop half of his teammates from getting wasted. 

“Well, time to get these fools home,” Marcus says, gesturing to Bryce, Flynn, and Albert. “It was nice having you.” 

Harry smiles and decides he likes Marcus. “Likewise.” He apparates home to see Ron and Hermione cuddled up to each other on the couch, watching a Muggle TV show, while Ron expresses his confusion. 

Hermione immediately turns off the TV and greets Harry. “So, how was the first day?” 

Harry debates whether to lie or not, but decides it doesn’t matter, because Hermione would probably coax the truth out of him. “Erm, it went alright.” 

Hermione raises an eyebrow and sighs. “What happened? Were the guys jerks?” 

Figuring there was no use in hiding it, he sighs, and prepares to unload.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally meets Draco, meaning, the fun begins now.

Hermione suggest he break up with Ginny, and despite his reluctance to hurt her feelings, he knows it’s for the best. After all, he knows that she deserves a man that would genuinely want her, romantically, anyway. She’s heartbroken, of course, but as usual, she’s understanding. She acknowledges the fact that his sexuality would have been the least of his concerns in his teenage years, and thanks him for ending their relationship before having an affair with a bloke. She offers her unconditional support, and Harry questions what he ever did to deserve someone like Ginny. He remembers her saying, “Well, I’m always here, so if you ever need to bitch about how some guy did you wrong, call me,” and smiles fondly. 

Harry makes his way to the locker rooms at 6:40 the next morning, deciding to get changed before he has to see Ronan in his underwear again. Marcus is the first to finish changing, and he’s holding an envelope in his hand. “Coach told me to give this to you,” Marcus says, handing Harry the envelope. 

Harry raises his eyebrows. “What’s this?” 

“Your contract,” Marcus replies. “The Boss wants to see you.” 

“Who?” 

“Oh, sorry, the guy who owns the team,” Marcus clarifies. “We call him the Boss. Major pain in the ass.” 

“Yikes,” Harry answers. “Well, why does he want my contract? Is he trying to kick me off the team or something?” 

Marcus shrugs. “I’m not sure. I have no idea why he would want to kick you off the team, you’re way better than our other Seeker. If we ever lost, it was because he couldn’t catch the damn Snitch. Well, Coach and I will see what we can do.” 

Harry smiles. “Thanks.” 

“Well, I better Apparate you there, don’t you think?” Marcus holds out his arm, and Harry takes it, Disapparating once he’s in the building. Harry finds himself in a waiting room, foolishly dressed in comparison to the receptionists and the other people filing in and out of the room. Harry twiddles with his thumbs for the next five minutes, embarrassed by being in his quidditch uniform, until a lady with oddly-shaped glasses and overdrawn lipstick calls his name. 

“Harry Potter? Second door to the right.” 

Harry nods curtly and makes his way to the office. He nearly wets himself when he opens the door. “M-malfoy?” But this isn’t the Malfoy he remembers from Hogwarts. This isn’t the pointy-faced Malfoy that always used far too much hair gel. This Malfoy radiated authority and dominance that made Harry’s knees buckle. He’s wearing a suit that looks like it was perfectly tailored to fit him, and his blue eyes are as icy and piercing as ever. This Malfoy was gorgeous. Harry quickly sits down before he can do anything stupid. 

When Malfoy gets up from his seat, Harry grips the table for dear life. Wandlessly, he casts a charm that closes the door, and Harry’s heart clenches. Malfoy could do wandless magic? “Just when I thought you’d be out of my life,” Malfoy begins spitefully. “You just have to ruin everything, don’t you, Potter?” Harry wants to say something, but when he opens his mouth, words don’t come out. 

“Of course,” Malfoy continues, “I tried tearing up your contract. But the stupid things are charmed.” He takes Harry’s contract from the envelope, rips it apart, only for the pieces to reassemble again. “I own the Magpies, but I don’t own the entire league, so there’s nothing I can do to kick you out now.” Malfoy slams his hand on the table, and while leaning forward towards Harry, he practically spits, “so don’t fuck it up, Potter, or your quidditch career will be over faster than you can wipe the drool off your chin.” 

Harry is frozen in place, transfixed on Malfoy’s blue eyes, seething with hatred. His heart thumps in his chest so loudly, he’s scared Malfoy can hear it. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so powerless—nor can he remember the last time he’s ever been so aroused. He momentarily imagines Malfoy bending him over the desk, and blushes at the thought, furious by the fact it popped into his mind, but even more so by how much he enjoyed it. He finally manages a response and says, “if you hate me so damn much, why did you even let me onto the team in the first place?” 

Draco rolls his eyes. “It was my stupid secretary. She’s a whore, anyway, I don’t know why I hired her.” 

Even though Harry doesn’t know the girl, he feels the need to defend her. “Sod off, Malfoy, she’s working for you. Show her some respect.” 

“How I treat my secretary is none of your business, Potter,” Malfoy spits. “Now get the fuck out of my office.” Harry’s knees are weak as he stands up. He quickly Apparates back to the quidditch field, not before taking one last look at Malfoy’s stupidly attractive face. 

“What did the Boss want?” Marcus asks, and Harry blushes. 

“Well, he doesn’t like me much, let’s just say that,” Harry replies, and occupies himself with polishing his broomstick, even though it’s not necessary. When Ronan comes around the corner, he’s not so impressed anymore. He feels incredibly stupid. Ronan was handsome, athletic, and a decent human being. Why the hell was he all of a sudden so fixated on someone like Malfoy, who was a complete and utter asshole, who would gladly date anyone in the world before him? 

Harry performs worse than usual, but not all that much. He blames Malfoy for it, and he believes his blame is correctly placed. When he takes a shower, he doesn’t bother glancing secretly at Ronan. Harry Apparates home without saying goodbye to his teammates, far too frustrated for being mannerly. Ron’s staying late for an Auror mission, and as usual, Hermione was busy slaving away in her office, so Harry heads upstairs to bed, even though he knows he won’t be able to sleep. 

After about half an hour of lying in bed drowning in his own thoughts, Harry decides to spend the night at a gay bar in Muggle London. He ponders whether he should just go to a typical nightclub, but decides against it. He doesn’t want to bring home a girl tonight, even though it felt better to try to convince himself that he was attracted to women.

Harry knows it’ll be a long time before he’ll ever find a boyfriend--he couldn’t imagine himself dating a Muggle, but he didn’t think he could ever come out without having his face all over the front page of the Prophet. He can already picture the headlines, and he cringes. He leaves Ron and Hermione a note, letting them know he’ll be gone for the night, and heads off to the club. When he enters, the smell of alcohol fills the room, and Muggle music that he hasn’t heard in more than a decade is blasting through the speakers. 

He looks around at the assortment of guys in the bar, not overwhelmed with his options. Most of them were completely inebriated, while one couple was engaging in activities he thought would have been more appropriate behind closed doors. Harry scans the bar for any blondes, and sighs, feeling defeated and completely pathetic. He imagines what Ron would say if he told him he’d hook up with anyone who bore a slight resemblance to Draco Malfoy. 

Harry has never found himself to be particularly attractive, and he assumed all the attention he received from girls at Hogwarts was simply because he was the Chosen One. But considering how wasted everyone seemed to be, he didn’t think he’d have too much difficulty finding a guy to bring home. Harry spots a decent-looking blonde boy from the corner of the dance floor, and decides that he’d suffice. He’s never been much of a flirt, not even with women, let alone men, so he hopes that a couple of drinks would help him muster up some confidence. He realizes that he’s never ordered Muggle alcohol, and searches his mind for anything that the bar might have. 

He goes up to the bartender and asks for a vodka martini, and when she asks Harry for his preferences, he’s completely clueless. He makes the excuse that he’s just turned 21 and doesn’t know much about alcohol, and the bartender seems to understand and spares him some embarrassment. After a few drinks, he finally works up the courage to go and talk to the blonde man he’d spotted earlier. The alcohol seemed to have worked for him, because in mere minutes, the man was pushing Harry up against the wall and kissing his neck aggressively. Harry can feel the man growing hard against him, and in lieu of him not being able to reciprocate, he closes his eyes and pretends that it’s Malfoy kissing him. His imagination seems to do the trick, and the man suggests that they head back to his place. Harry is reluctant, but agrees, remembering that the entire purpose of tonight was to get laid, and hopefully forget Malfoy. 

Although this isn’t his first time having sex, he feels like he’s losing his virginity all over again. Harry’s completely unsure of himself, and decides he’ll let the man take control. With a blush, Harry realizes he doesn’t even know his name. He wonders what Malfoy would think. Famous Harry Potter, sleeping with a Muggle bloke who doesn’t even know his name. The man makes it pretty clear right away he isn’t much of a gentleman, and imagines that Malfoy probably wouldn’t be much of a gentlemen either. He assumes Malfoy’s not the best in bed, and that he’d be the type to just want to get off and leave it at that, caring for little other than his own pleasure. He’s unfazed by this, however, and finds the idea of being used by Malfoy incredibly arousing. 

The man finishes first and makes no attempt to get Harry off afterwards. He leaves abruptly, not even bothering to stay the night. Shamefully, he realizes that he’d spent the entire time thinking about Malfoy. His idea to hook up with a Muggle in order to forget about Draco was probably his most unsuccessful endeavor to date, and he almost wishes that he would have asked Hermione for advice, but he’s afraid that she’d call him foolish. And that would sting, because he knows in the back of his mind, that she’d be right. Harry has to remind himself he doesn’t like Malfoy, and never will. He acknowledges his burning desire to sleep with him, but reasons with himself that sex doesn’t mean love. Clearly that was true from tonight’s experience. 

Harry Apparates back home, and realizes that it’s midnight. Hermione and Ron are still on the couch, and they immediately bombard him with a barrage of questions. “Where were you?” Hermione inquires worriedly, and Ron adds, “how was practice?” 

“It was alright,” Harry answers plainly. “And, uh, I was just out.” 

Hermione seems unsatisfied with his response. “Out? Where?” 

Harry decides not to beat around the bush, knowing that she’d get the truth out of him somehow. “Muggle London. I was at an, er, bar.” 

Ron is puzzled. “Why a Muggle bar?” 

Harry blushes. “So, you know, nobody would know who I am.” 

“Um, Harry,” Hermione begins awkwardly, “were you at a gay bar?” 

He doesn’t see the point in lying, so he nods. “Yeah.” 

Ron is still confused. “Why? Were you looking for a hookup? No strings attached sex?” 

“Erm, yeah,” Harry answers. 

“Didn’t think you would be the type, honestly,” Ron says. “I always reckoned you were more for serious relationships.” 

“I am,” he replies. “It’s just…” 

Hermione looks at him expectantly. “Just what?” 

Harry sighs. “I want to quit quidditch.” Before Ron and Hermione have time to respond, he continues. “Just when I think it couldn’t get any worse. Malfoy owns the Magpies. He called me into his office today to tell me not to fuck anything up. And Merlin, he’s bloody gorgeous now. So, I went to the bar, to, er, try to get my mind off of him. Didn’t really work.” 

Ron’s mouth is hanging open in shock. “Seriously? Malfoy? Harry, I’ve got absolutely no problem with you being gay, but Malfoy?” 

Hermione elbows him. “Ronald, for once, could you try to be more considerate?” 

“Bloody hell,” Ron interjects. “First you were shagging my sister, then you realize you’re gay for one of your teammates, and all of a sudden you’re gay for Malfoy?” Hermione rolls her eyes in response. 

“Yeah,” Harry answers weakly. “That’s a pretty good summary. I just have no idea what to do now. Do I just wait until I’m over him? But how long will that be?” 

Hermione sighs. “I don’t know, Harry. But playing for the Magpies is an amazing opportunity, please don’t let Malfoy ruin it for you.” 

“You just want to shag him, mate,” Ron adds. “Believe me, when you just want to shag someone, you get over it really fast. Give it a week and you’ll be fine.” 

Harry sighs, and prays that Ron’s right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of smut here, but since it's a dream, it's a lot less detailed than the later chapters. Enjoy girls and gays

_“This is what you wanted, isn’t it Potter?” Draco spits. “You wanted me to bend you over this desk and shag you senseless, is that right?”_

_“Y-yes sir,” Harry stutters, as Malfoy spanks him, leaving the skin red and stinging._

_“Saint Potter’s not such a saint anymore, is he?” Malfoy whispers into his ear, and Harry shivers. “Get on your knees.”  
_

_Harry doesn’t waste a second before dropping to his knees, wrapping his lips around Malfoy’s cock without another word. Draco moans beautifully, only giving him further motivation. Harry slides his mouth down Malfoy’s entire length, as if he’d never heard of a gag reflex. It’s not long until Draco withdrawals his cock from his mouth, and asks him to bend over the desk again. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he says. “Imagine how sore you’re going to be the next morning.”  
_

_Harry wordlessly obeys, and Malfoy summons a phial of lube from one of his drawers. He has no clue how it had gotten there in the first place, but he’s far too eager and aroused to ask. Draco works some of the lube onto his two of his fingers, sliding them into Harry’s asshole slowly. Harry moans. Draco’s twists his fingers inside of Harry, lightly nudging his prostate, making Harry let out a yelp. “Stop teasing,” he moans helplessly. “Just fuck me already. Please.”  
_

_“Be patient,” Draco growls. “We don’t always get what we want right when we want it.” He continues working his fingers in and out of Harry at a painfully slow place, and he buries his face into the mound of paperwork on Malfoy’s desk, trying to suppress his moans._

_“Please,” Harry whimpers. “Give me more.”  
_

_“Patience,” Malfoy repeats._

_Harry grips the table and starts fucking himself on Draco’s fingers, and Malfoy, the little git, withdrawls them completely. “Desperate, aren’t you?” Malfoy teases. “As much as I’d love to hear you beg for me, I think your coach would grow suspicious if I kept you here for much longer. Are you ready?”_

_“Fuck yes,” Harry replies. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”_

_“Merlin, Potter, you absolute sleaze.” Draco lines up his tip with Harry’s entrance, pushing in slowly, stretching him out as he does so. Harry moans lightly. “Excited, aren’t you? Excited to be fucked properly?”_

_“Y-yes,” Harry answers shakily as Malfoy continues, sliding inch after inch into him, until his entire length is buried deep inside Harry’s asshole._

_Draco’s thrusts are hard and slow at first, giving him some time to adjust. Once Harry’s fully stretched out around his cock, Malfoy slams into him, making Harry doubt that any man could ever fill him better. Draco starts thrusting faster, this time, hitting his prostate, and Harry lets out a high-pitched whimper. He loses himself in the pleasure, the way Malfoy feels, the filthy words he’s whispering into Harry’s ear as he fucks him, Merlin, if he wasn’t about to come untouched…_

Harry wakes with a start, covered in sweat, the sheets sticking to his skin. He kicks them away and feels his cock stir in his pants, and realization dawns upon him. He’d just had a wet dream. About _Malfoy._

He tries to occupy his mind, with anything—quidditch, Ronan, what he wants to do over the weekend, all to no avail. His cock is throbbing now, begging to be touched. Harry sighs, and pulls off his pajama pants cautiously, even though there’s absolutely no one around to see him, humiliated by how hard he is. He lies down and wanks shamefully, coming relatively quickly, then wraps himself in his blankets and tries to go back to sleep. 

He wakes up again at 5 AM, and decides not to go back to sleep. He gets up and opens up the pile of letters on his bedside table. There’s a few from old friends at Hogwarts—Neville, Dean, Luna. He’s too tired to write back to them, so he places them aside and makes a note to himself to respond to the letters after practice. He goes through the rest of the stack, most of them being from girls who were desperate to date him. He makes his way to the final letter, and his heart nearly stops. He looks at the name printed on the envelope again, to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. 

_Recipient: Harry J. Potter_

_From: Draco L. Malfoy_

Harry’s hands are shaking as he opens up the letter, and he reads it, finding himself incredibly disappointed by its content. 

_Participation in the Quidditch World Cup_

_I (print name), acknowledge_ _that I wish to participate in the Quidditch World Cup on (date). I understand that certain risks are inherent in participation and I accept those risks._

_Name:_

_Team:_

_Position on team:_

_Signature:_

He checks the backside to see if there was anything more, and sighs. Malfoy had sent him a waiver, the same one that was sent to every player on every team that participated in the World Cup. Harry asks himself what exactly he was expecting—a letter of apology? A declaration of love? He shakes his head. He was being stupid. He fills out the blanks, folds it neatly into an envelope, and hands it to his owl. Harry decides to respond to all the letters now to pass the time, even writing back to a few love-crazed girls. 

Harry checks the time. 6:00. He has about 20 minutes to kill, so he decides to take a shower. While he’s lathering shampoo through his hair, his mind drifts to the only place that it had been for the past 24 hours—Malfoy. He imagines Malfoy’s naked body, covered in soap, pressed up against his. He pictures his hands running through Malfoy’s platinum hair, while Draco’s lips latch onto his neck, leaving marks he’d have a hard time explaining to his teammates. He quickly lets the thought slip his mind before it can make him hard. He rinses his hair quickly, before stepping out of the shower and putting on his quidditch jersey. 

Harry makes no effort to hide his frustration, and he’s so deep in his own thoughts that he forgets he can use _alohomora_ to open his locker, and he struggles with it for a minute or two, before kicking it aggressively. 

“Didn’t know Harry Potter couldn’t perform a simple locking charm,” Bryce jokes, and Harry doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to lose his temper with his teammates—he’s not a git like Malfoy. Another reason he was being stupid, letting him occupy his mind. 

Ronan takes a surprisingly sympathetic approach. “Don’t be like that, mate, what’s wrong? Girl problems?” 

Harry nods. Close enough. “Yeah. Can’t stop thinking about this one girl. But I reckon she hates me. Like, actually hates me.” 

Marcus raises his eyebrows from the other side of the locker room. “Who could hate you?”

He smiles weakly. “Thank you for thinking that way about me, but really, a lot of people. Perhaps everyone who’s ever been a Slytherin?” 

“So a Slytherin girl?” Ronan answers. “I was a fourth year when you started at Hogwarts, so I might know her. Name?” 

Harry’s mind races for a name. He thinks of the prettiest Slytherin girl in his year, and blurts out, “Daphne Greengrass.” 

Ronan seems to be satisfied with Harry’s choice, and nods in approval. “A pretty girl for sure. Too young for me, but yeah, definitely. So, what about her’s got your knickers in a twist?” 

Harry shrugs. “Just something about her, I guess. I saw her yesterday. Couldn’t stop thinking about her ever since.” He internally praises himself for the good save. 

“Well, listen,” Ronan replies. “I wish you the best of luck. I doubt she’d say no to you, for real. But hey, the Quidditch World cup is in three weeks. Something to look forward to, right?” 

Harry manages an appreciative smile, and returns to putting on his knee pads. For the next three weeks, he starts a routine. Wake up at 6:20, take a shower, get ready for practice, take another shower after practice, wank away the frustration, go drinking at the Three Broomsticks, ignore Ron and Hermione’s pressing questions, and sleep. His friends grow increasingly worried about him for the next few weeks, and Harry wants to yell at Ron for telling him he’d get over Malfoy quickly, but he doesn’t, because it’s not Ron’s fault. This wasn’t the first time he’s shut them out—it wasn’t a big deal. He knows they won’t understand his feelings. How could they, if he couldn’t even understand them himself? 

The Quidditch World Cup does provide him with some much-needed distraction from his nearly month-long moping over Malfoy. Being Harry Potter had its advantages—he got first pick for his roommate. He debates between Ronan and Marcus. He decides on Ronan. He was pretty easy to talk to, and also the only bloke that could even compete with Malfoy for his attention. 

Harry had already been impressed with his first experience at the Quidditch World Cup, but the experience of being a member of one of the teams was absolutely incomparable. He was used to the magically-expanding tents, as he’d already stayed in one with the Hermione and the Weasleys, but this was truly spectacular. His room had two queen-sized beds, a bathroom that reminded him of the prefect’s bathroom at Hogwarts, and an assortment of portraits on the wall that greeted him enthusiastically. Not to mention the mirror, that told him “looking good, Mr. Potter” in a high-pitched voice when he’d seen it for the first time. “This is amazing,” Harry comments. 

“Get used to it,” Ronan answers it. “You should see the boss’s tent, his is just like this, but for one person. I swear, the guy never runs out of money.” 

Harry gulps. “He’s here too?” 

Ronan nods. “Yeah, he’s pretty hands-on with his investments especially this one. Scared of him? Didn’t think you were the type to be scared of anything, definitely not Malfoy. But we call him the boss for a reason, I guess he is pretty intimidating.” 

Harry thinks he’s at least semi-decent at controlling his mouth, but blurts out, “um, Malfoy’s kind of hot, don’t you think?” 

Ronan laughs. “Yeah, he’s pretty handsome. But that’s kind of a strange comment to make.” 

Harry blushes furiously. “Y-yeah. Just popped into my head for some reason.” 

“Hey, you do you, man. But be careful with the guy.” 

Harry nods awkwardly. “Yeah. Of course.” 

Two days later, the fans arrive, and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny also come along to support him. As happy as he is to have them here, he’s grateful that he has an excuse to avoid talking to them. He knows they’re going to ask why he’s been so distant lately, and telling them that he’s still crushing on Malfoy was the last thing he wanted to do. He was already stupid for even finding him attractive in the first place, but being hung-up over him for a month was much, much worse. 

Harry’s sitting on his bed, putting on his knee pads, when Ronan sits down next to him. “So we’re versing Spain’s national quidditch team today. They’re pretty good, but their Seeker’s definitely not at your level, so I think we’ll be alright. Nervous?” 

Harry nods. “Very.”

Ronan nudges him affectionately. “Hey, you’ll do great. We’re meeting on the field in five.” 

“So they have a really good Keeper,” Marcus was saying. “I think we’ll be alright, but we should definitely get the Snitch to secure our victory. You think you can do that, Harry?” 

Harry nods. “I’ll try.” 

The fans begin filing into the stadium, the box seats still empty, as they were reserved for special guests. Harry had reserved three of them for Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, and they arrive in a few minutes, waving to him enthusiastically. A few more people arrive, which Harry assumes are his teammates’s friends and family. Three suited men have a seat, and Harry gulps when the final man has a seat. _Another reason to play well,_ Harry reminds himself. Malfoy straightens his tie, and despite the thousands of people surrounding them, Harry feels like he’s staring directly at him. Their eyes meet, and Harry shudders, under Malfoy’s intimidating, yet unfathomably attractive, glare. He can hear Malfoy’s voice in his head saying, “ _don’t fuck it up, Potter_.” Harry swallows the lump in his throat as the fireworks go off. 

Harry catches the Snitch, but he doesn’t think that it’s too impressive, considering that the Spanish Seeker had fallen off his broomstick. He observes the crowd’s reactions, noticing a girl with a massive poster with a moving picture of his face on it. He looks up at Malfoy, who seems to be the only person in the crowd, excluding the Spanish team’s fans of course, who isn’t celebrating. He’s glowering at Harry, and Harry’s grateful that he’s sitting on his broom, or his knees might have buckled and he would’ve passed out on the spot. 

When Harry heads back to the tent, he’s met with a barrage of praise from his teammates, which he can only respond to with a quick nod and half-smile. The Keeper, Oscar, nudges him lightly. “What’s up, mate? You won us the game!” 

Harry shakes his head. “Eh, I only caught it because the other guy fell off his broom. Not impressive at all, really.” 

Ronan laughs. “Clearly a humble fellow.” 

Harry chuckles weakly, and follows his teammates into the living room. He’s busy removing his protective gear when the coach walks in. “Hey Potter, Boss wants you. First tent to the left, the big one.” 

Harry’s heart nearly stops. Again? What could Malfoy possibly want this time? He stands up, his legs feeling like jelly, which he’s sure has nothing to do with the quidditch match. He collects himself, ignoring his heart pounding in his ears, and heads over to Malfoy’s tent.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry decides to make his presence known before barging in. Malfoy replies with a particularly spiteful, “come in, Potter.” When he enters, Draco is sitting in a lounge chair, his jacket hanging on the chair next to him, with the top two buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned. A half-finished glass of firewhisky sits on the table beside him. Harry gulps and sits down, to which Malfoy answers, “did I say that you could make yourself comfortable?” 

Harry’s heart thumps in his chest, and he stands up. Malfoy laughs coldly. “Why so obedient, Potter?” He takes a sip of his firewhisky and continues, “must be your nature. Didn’t you do everything Dumbledore asked of you? Of course you did. You’re really such a saint, aren’t you?” 

In an act of childish petulance since he didn’t have any better way of response, Harry sits down again. 

“My bad,” Malfoy retorts. “Famous Harry Potter is a bit of a bad boy.” 

“What did you call me here for anyway, Malfoy?” Harry spits back. 

“For the pleasure of your company?” Malfoy suggests, leaning forward in his seat, looking him directly in the eye. Harry’s mouth goes as dry as chalk. Was Malfoy _flirting_ with him? “Of course not,” Draco finally adds. “You insufferable twat. I just called you in to tell you that you catching the Snitch today, well, helped us beat a record. The Magpies are officially the team with the most World Cup wins in Europe.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you asked me here to congratulate me.” 

Malfoy stands up, resting a hand on the armrest of Harry’s chair, and placing the other one underneath Harry’s chin. Harry freezes, his heart pounding in his chest. He should push him away, but he can’t. He sits there, completely still, his eyes transfixed on Malfoy. “You bastard,” Malfoy snarls. “You arrogant bastard. Think I’ve asked you here to _congratulate_ you?” 

Harry takes a deep breath, as if somehow, the oxygen had been sucked from his lungs. He tries to formulate a snarky response, but just as it had always been with Malfoy was around recently, words failed him. 

“Surprised you’re not shoving my hands off of you,” he continues, and Harry pushes him away. Malfoy scoffs. “If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you enjoyed that. Do you like when blokes touch you, Potter?” 

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Harry grumbles.

Malfoy laughs humorlessly. “Someone clearly hasn’t grown up. Anyways, I came here to tell you not to fuck things up like you normally do.” 

“Don’t think I won’t hex you into another dimension,” Harry growls. 

“I’m absolutely terrified.” 

“You saw what I did to you in sixth year. Don’t think I won’t do it again.” 

“Yeah, give that a try. I bet there’ll be a cell in Azkaban with your name on it, Saint Potter or not. So, are you going to leave my tent or not?” Malfoy grabs Harry’s chin again, and Harry swats his hand away without another word, although he somewhat regrets it. Malfoy chuckles coldly. “Shame, we could’ve had so much fun.” 

Harry stands up, his legs weak and shaky, his knees wobbling as if he’d just run a marathon. _We could’ve had some fun? What could that have possibly meant?_ He has a hunch, but he rules it out as stupid. “Malfoy is straight and he hates you,” he blurts out to himself, once Malfoy’s out of earshot. “Don’t be an idiot.” 

Harry tries to avoid conversation when he heads back to the tent. 

“How did the meeting with the Boss go?” Ronan asks when Harry gets back. 

Harry shrugs, and hops into bed. “It was alright, I guess.” 

Ronan sighs. “You’re very secretive, mate. Not a good liar, either, like at all.” 

“Well, I don’t really have a choice,” Harry says. “I have a lot of secrets that I’m sure people won’t be great at keeping.” 

“What kind of secrets?” Ronan asks. 

“Embarrassing ones.” 

Ronan laughs. “What, did you hex the other team?” 

Harry shakes his head. “Nah. It’s not necessarily _bad,_ per say. I mean, I didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just embarrassing. Do you know what I mean?” 

“Does the Boss have anything to do with this?” 

Harry nods. “Yeah.” 

“Well, spill. You can trust me.” 

“Um, you won’t hate me, right?” 

“Did you kill my entire family?” Ronan jokes. 

“Not that I’m aware of,” Harry answers with a smile. 

“Then no,” Ronan says. “I won’t. And I won’t tell anyone either if you don’t want me to.” 

“Well, it’s now or never, I guess,” Harry begins. “You know how I always get really awkward when you guys ask me about my love life?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And the whole Daphne Greengrass thing? That was a lie.” 

Ronan snorts. “No way. Would have never guessed. So you’ve got really bad girl problems? Let me guess, you like some chick that’s way older than you. Mommy issues?” 

Harry laughs. “No, it’s not girls at all, actually.” 

“I’m confused.” 

“Well, I, er, thinkimightlikeblokes.” 

“What?” 

“I think I might like blokes.” 

“And?” 

"I think Malfoy’s hot.” 

“And?” 

“That’s it.” 

Ronan chuckles. “That’s it?” 

“Wait, so you’re not judging me?” Harry exclaims incredulously. 

“Of course not,” Ronan replies. “Your secret is safe with me. Albert gives me homophobic vibes to be honest, so if you ever want to come out, please be careful.” 

Harry grins. “You’re a lifesaver Ronan, you really are.” 

“Anytime. Good luck with the Boss, by the way. So, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, what _really_ happened today?” 

“Well, he’s an asshole,” Harry says. “A terrible person. But ridiculously hot. He kept...touching me. Like, he kept grabbing my chin. And he kept mocking me. He said, ‘do you like when blokes touch you, Potter’ and ‘we could’ve had lots of fun.’ What could that possibly mean?” 

Ronan raises his eyebrows. “Looks like he wants to shag you.” 

“But he’s straight.” 

“I’m straight,” Ronan says. “I don’t do that.”

“So what do I do?” 

Ronan shrugs. “Very difficult question to answer. I’d just go with the flow, if I were you. If you guys ever do anything, let him initiate it. He’s handsome for sure, but as you said, a terrible person. You don’t want to go catching feelings.” 

“Right,” Harry affirms, although there’s an edge of doubt in his voice. “Well, I’m going to go take a shower.” 

“Sounds good. See you later.” 

The bathroom has a tub and a shower, but Harry decides to get into the bathtub. He turns on the tap, which fills the tub with multicolored water and fragrant bubbles. He’s reminded of his experience in the prefect’s bathroom fourth year, with Moaning Myrtle. He laughs at the memory. He pictures Malfoy, with his button-up white shirt, undoing the buttons, sliding off his trousers, and joining him in the bath. He imagines how big Malfoy’s cock must be, and his stomach flips. He’s guilty and disappointed with himself as ever, but he allows himself to close his eyes and enjoy getting lost in his thoughts. Images of Malfoy’s naked body fill his head, as well as images of Malfoy’s hands all over him, lathering him in soap, closing his hand around Malfoy’s hard cock... 

Harry shudders. He was in the bath. He was alone. He’d just won the Magpies another break. He comes to the conclusion that he needs to give himself a well-deserved break. His hand moves down to his cock, and he strokes it a few times, before closing his eyes and imagining Malfoy again. He comes on his hand in a matter of minutes, and sighs, knowing he’d wanked more in the past month than he did his entire time at Hogwarts. Harry finds it foolish how Malfoy kept telling him not to fuck things up, when Malfoy ruins everything. All he wants to do is sit down with Ron, have a drink, and complain for hours, but he knows he can’t. Ron would call him stupid, and he couldn’t be mad, because Ron would be completely justified in doing so. 

He washes himself quickly and puts on a bathrobe. “That was a long shower,” Ronan comments, when Harry steps out of the bathroom. “Thinking about the Boss?” Harry blushes, but doesn’t respond. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Harry meets up with Ron anyway, and tells him 80% of the truth, not bothering to leave out any details, except just replacing Malfoy’s name with Ronan’s. “So I don’t know what to do,” Harry was saying. “Because he’s clearly straight.” 

“I’m confused,” Ron comments. “I thought you liked Malfoy now?” 

“You told me I just wanted to shag him.” 

Ron shrugs. “Yeah, well, you don’t _like_ him, but I thought you were over your hot teammate now.” 

“Well, I got over Malfoy quick,” Harry says, the words leaving a sour taste in his mouth. That was perhaps the biggest lie he’s ever told. “So, back to Ronan.” 

“He’s definitely better than Malfoy, I’ll give you that,” Ron answers. “And hey, I’ve got my fingers crossed, okay? Maybe he likes blokes. I mean, there’s no way of knowing for sure.”

Harry smiles, although he silently prays that Ron would keep his fingers crossed for Malfoy. “Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Ron replies with a grin. “Until you get laid, wank yourself raw, mate.” 

Harry snorts. “Gee, thanks.” 

“No problem. Just don’t let Hermione know we had this conversation.” 

“Sure thing.” 

Harry falls asleep quickly that night. Unlike many nights after the war, he’s not plagued with nightmares—his dreams are fragmented, but pleasant. So pleasant, in fact, that he doesn’t want to wake up. He dreams of Malfoy, of course, but this time, he’s bent over the banister at Malfoy Manor. He doesn’t recall many details when he awakes, but he wakes up hard nonetheless. Harry tries to go back to sleep, to no avail. He can’t think of anything better to do than complain to someone, so he writes a letter. He thinks for a minute about who to address it to, and settles for Luna. 

_Hey Luna,_

_It’s late, and I’m sorry to bother you, but I need some advice from a really nonjudgmental person, so I figured I’d go to you. What do you do if you can't stop thinking about someone you have absolutely no chance with? What do you do when your heart is set on someone you’ll never have, or even worse, hates you? I miss you by the way, I’d love to catch up with you after the World Cup._

_Harry_

Harry’s not exactly pleased with the letter, but he’s far too exhausted to write another, so he hands it to his owl, tucks himself back into bed, his mind racing for another hour before he can fall back asleep. 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Harry doesn’t talk to Malfoy for the rest of the week. Their last game is against Burkina Faso, which they win, but Harry’s not as happy as he should be because Malfoy doesn’t call him in afterwards. Harry gets home by Portkey, and when he arrives, Ron and Hermione are already there, having lunch. He tells them he isn’t hungry, and goes to bed, the most sensible place to escape his constant thoughts of Malfoy, although even in sleep he isn’t safe. He isn’t even half asleep when Ron and Hermione are knocking at his door. 

He didn’t expect to spend his afternoon spilling his guts to his friends, but he’s shut them out far too much over the past month that he feels bad about it. Harry doesn’t know how to begin so he blurts out, “remember when I said that I got over Malfoy really quickly? That was a lie.” 

“There’s a lot to unpack here, but that’s a start?” Hermione begins. 

“I’m just so frustrated,” Harry says, “with myself, with everything. I can’t stop thinking about Malfoy. I get upset when he doesn’t talk to me, although when he does talk to me, he’s just insulting me. It’s stupid, I know.” 

“Not necessarily surprising,” Ron answers, “you and Malfoy have always been rather obsessed with each other.” 

Harry gulps. “Each other?” 

“He built his entire personality on trying to outperform you, Harry,” Ron says. “Of course he’s obsessed with you.” 

“Should I go for it then?” Harry asks. 

“Go for what?” Hermione adds. 

Harry pauses. He doesn’t have the answer to that, because he’s not even sure what he wants. Try to go out with him? That would be a terrible idea. Shag him once? But surely, if that were the case, would he be this hung up? He finally responds with, “I’m not sure.” 

“I really hate it when I don’t have the answers,” Hermione comments. “But I can’t be sure of the right course of action to take until you have your feelings entirely sorted out.” 

“Hey, Harry,” Ron interjects, “maybe you just don’t feel like you have enough options? Maybe I should take you out to meet more guys? I work with this Scottish bloke, pretty handsome. I could arrange a date, got to ask him if he’s gay first though.” 

“I don’t _like_ him, do I?” Harry inquires. “I mean, how do you like _Malfoy_?” 

“I think it’s more of a lust-driven obsession,” Hermione remarks. “Not the healthiest thing to pursue.” 

“Do you think he feels the same way? He called me over to his tent once, and he...touched me. He grabbed me by my chin and said we could’ve had some fun?” 

“He’s definitely trying to shag you,” Ron comments. 

“But that’s beside the point,” Hermione adds. “He probably does want to, um, have intercourse, but…” 

Ron snorts. “Have intercourse? Gee, Hermione. Yes, Harry, Malfoy wants to fuck.” 

“Don’t encourage this, Ronald.” She turns back to Harry. “We will find you a boyfriend, Harry. Don’t interact with Malfoy, he’s not good for you.” Harry nods, but he’s still fixated on what Ron had said earlier. _He’s definitely trying to shag you._ Hermione, as usual, was right—but that didn’t mean that he had to listen. He wouldn’t mind learning his lesson the hard way if it meant he got to live out his fantasies, even for one night. 

Keeping what Ron said in mind and shoving aside Hermione’s advice, when Harry wakes up the next morning, he decides he’ll make a move on Malfoy. He spends his time in the locker room pondering how he’s going to talk to Malfoy, only to realize he doesn’t have to. When he arrives on the Quidditch pitch, Malfoy’s sitting in the stands, the top two buttons of his shirt undone like they’d been the last time they had met. Their eyes meet, and Malfoy smirks at him mockingly, and Harry doesn’t know what’s stronger—his desire to slap that stupid smile off his face, or his ever-growing attraction towards him. 

During practice, Harry makes eye contact with Malfoy several times, which Ronan spots and makes sure to tease him for. By 3 PM, the coach dismisses the team, and his teammates head for the locker rooms. When he doesn’t see Malfoy stand up, he heads over to the broom polish station. Despite the fact his broomstick looks perfectly fine, he reasons that it’s the best way to catch a glimpse of Malfoy while still maintaining at least a shred of dignity. Harry expects him to move, but he doesn’t. Malfoy remains seated, glued in place, almost as if he were waiting for something. 

Harry takes a long glance over at him, all concerns of being seen vanishing from his mind. He takes in every detail, his grey-blue eyes, his pale skin, his platinum blonde hair, the silver serpent ring on his right hand, the two undone buttons on his dress shirt. He can’t comprehend the way Malfoy makes him feel, but he describes it best as some bizarre combination of lust, desire, and hatred. Malfoy's eyes meet his, and he quickly diverts his attention back to the broomstick, only to see Malfoy’s signature smirk from his peripheral vision. He sighs, knowing that once again, his inability to control himself had failed him. 

Harry swallows his saliva and attempts to remain calm while Malfoy saunters his way over to the broom polishing station. His insides turn to jelly as Malfoy’s eyes meets him, and he begins to polish his broom with unnecessary fervor in some lame attempt to divert his attention. “See something you like, Potter?” 

Harry tries to take the higher ground and ignore him, but Malfoy presses on again, insistent on an answer. “You’re talking rubbish,” he spits out, and he internally chides himself for responding so petulantly. 

Malfoy simply raises his eyebrows in amusement. “I think the broomstick’s polished enough, don’t you think? And by the way, it sure is hot out here, I hope you don’t mind if I just…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, simply unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it to the ground haphazardly, even though it probably cost more than Harry’s entire closet. 

Harry desperately tries to tear his eyes away, but he doesn’t, and allows himself to give in, even more overwhelmed by how much he loves Malfoy’s body. “Who knew that golden boy Harry Potter fancied blokes?” Malfoy teases cruelly. “Not very saint-like of you, is it? I bet the Daily Prophet’s going to have loads of fun with that little tidbit.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Haven’t grown up much have you, Potter? Not how you speak to someone you want to shag.” 

“You’re one to be talking.” Harry’s eyes trail over to the Dark Mark on his arm. “Did it hurt?” 

Malfoy snorts. “Trying pickup lines on me now?” 

Harry blushes furiously. “I mean the Dark Mark.” 

Malfoy nods. “A lot. What’s it to you? I was nothing but an asshole to you.” 

“Yeah, an asshole, but not evil. I never saw you as evil.” 

“That’s just your hero complex talking,” Malfoy answers. “That’s what heroes do, isn’t it? See the good in people? Even when there’s none?” His voice loses its usual snideness, and Harry senses a slight edge of vulnerability in his tone. 

Harry shrugs. “Why did you become a Death Eater in the first place? Your father?” 

“Well, he encouraged it, yeah. But in the end, it was my decision.” 

“Surely you just wanted to make him proud?” 

“Of course. But that doesn’t matter, I’m a horrible person, and you know it.” 

“You couldn’t kill Dumbledore even with your own life on the line,” Harry reasons. “That’s why Snape had to do it. To protect you. Doesn’t sound like a monster to me.” 

Malfoy scowls. “What’s the point of this conversation? Is it to prove what an amazing person you are? That you see the good in everyone? There’s no point in that. Everyone loves you. No one loves me.” 

Harry pauses for a minute. Why _was_ he doing this? He supposes he doesn’t really care to convince Malfoy that he wasn’t such a terrible person after all, and more to justify to himself that it was alright to want to shag him. He doesn’t want to tell Malfoy that of course, so he remains silent. 

“That’s what I thought,” Malfoy states coldly. “You’re so impossibly good that you’re vile. Trying to reform Death Eaters to improve your already squeaky-clean reputation? Well, guess what, Potter, you’re not using me to fulfill your next hero project.” 

Harry’s never been so irrational in his life, but something about Malfoy inhibits his logic completely. He makes what could either be the smartest or his stupidest decision yet, and drops to his knees. 

Malfoy is taken aback, so much so, that he can't even think of a snide remark to reply with. “Are you offering what I think you’re offering?” 

“We’re alone, aren’t we?” Harry answers. “May I?” 

“Fuck,” Malfoy says with a breathy sigh. “Goddamnit, yes.” 

Harry grins, his hands are shaky as he unbuttons Malfoy’s trousers. Harry’s shaky hands manage to pull down Malfoy’s pants, and slide his underwear down his legs just as fast. He stares at Malfoy’s cock for a few moments. Malfoy had always had a decent-sized cock in his imagination, but this was beyond anything he’d ever dreamt of. “Are you just going to stare?” Malfoy teases, and Harry blushes. 

Burning with desire, he takes Malfoy’s cock into his hand, and circles the tip with his tongue. Harry licks a stripe down his entire length, before finally taking him into his mouth. He’d sucked a cock once before, when he’d gone to a Muggle bar and picked a bloke for a one-night stand. He had done it only to please the man enough that he would hopefully fuck away his feelings towards Malfoy, but this was different. He wanted this to be something Malfoy would never forget, because Harry was sure he’d never forget this for as long as he lived. 

Harry sucks slowly, tentatively, wanting to enjoy every second of this. He takes more of Malfoy into his mouth, sliding himself down on his length, reaching about halfway before he can’t take anymore. “Never thought I’d be seeing this,” Malfoy says. “Golden Boy, Saint Potter, on his knees, choking on Death Eater cock.” 

“You talk too much,” Harry replies simply, taking him in again, using his hands to compensate for what he can’t get into his mouth. 

Draco moans. “Oh fuck…” Harry, motivated by the encouragement, tries to take Malfoy down his throat again. He gets farther than last time, but he’s still a few inches away from the base. “You’re such a fucking slut, Potter.” 

Something about Malfoy calling him a slut makes his cock twitch in his pants. Harry considered himself to be more of a power bottom than a submissive one from his previous experience at the bar the other night, but there was something about Malfoy that made him want to submit completely. Harry sucks Malfoy’s cock furiously, taking as much as he can each time, occasionally swirling his tongue around the tip. Malfoy’s not talking anymore, letting out deep, ragged moans that drive Harry to the point of insanity. 

“Fuck, I’m going to come.” 

Harry looks up at him eagerly. “Come on my face.” 

“Damn it, you absolute sleaze.” 

With a few strokes Malfoy comes, coating Harry’s face in streams of sticky white liquid. Harry allows his come to stay on his face for a while, licking his lips and tasting it. Harry mutters a quick cleaning charm, because as much as he loves being covered in Malfoy, he doesn't want to return home to Ron and Hermione with come all over his face. “Take off your trousers,” Draco orders. “I want to get you off too.” 

Malfoy drags Harry over the shed where his teammates had stored their broomsticks, and they both sit down. Harry happily complies with Malfoy’s command, using a spell to remove his clothing. His cock is aching and throbbing, and when Malfoy closes his hand around his length, he almost can’t take it. Draco’s strokes are long and teasing, but feel incredible. Harry moans shakily, and Draco picks up the pace, filling Harry with white-hot pleasure. He’d wanked in his room plenty of times, but it never felt anything like this. Maybe it was the fact that it was Malfoy’s hand instead of his own that was making this so intense. He comes embarrassingly fast, but Malfoy doesn’t seem to be bothered, and he licks Harry’s come right off his hand. 

Harry doesn’t know what to make of this. His head was spinning in a combination of both post-orgasmic bliss and shock. He thinks about the way he wants Malfoy to take him next time, before deciding to come to his senses. _There won’t be a next time._ Draco was bored and horny and had no intention of doing this again. Maybe their conversation would ensure that they were no longer enemies, but definitely not friends. And most certainly not lovers. 

Harry redresses himself with shaky hands, completely red in the face, and still shivering from the aftershocks of his orgasm. 

“Maybe I should supervise practice more often,” Malfoy comments, buttoning his trousers and shirt. Without as much as another glance, he’s off. A wave of disappointment washes over Harry, and he sighs, the post-orgasmic bliss lasting for a much shorter time than it should have. 


End file.
